First of all for those of you who aren’t familiar with the term bukkake, shame on you – what have you been doing on the internet all this time? Secondly, if you’re at work or don’t like Copydex I suggest you don’t look it up but educate yourself with this definition – I know you won’t believe me but the link is entirely safe for work, in the sense that it’s just text. Thirdly and finally that very much sets the tone for the rest of the post. You have been warned.

What with it being a beautiful day and me feeling morbid about my obesity I decided to go for a Boris bike ride through London’s Royal Parks. Being suited and booted for work and it being hotter than a Portaloo on a beach I immediately started sweating like a dogs tongue, but I was determined to enjoy myself.

All was gravy until I got to Hyde Park and had to endure cycling past a legion of Ornamental Pear trees. Now these trees are for about 52 weeks of the year entirely inoffensive until they flower, at which point they are more commonly known as Spunk Trees. In fact they may more accurately be described as Wank Trees, as they smell of mopped up jizz, just like a teenage boy’s wanking flannel or sock for that matter. It was like cycling along a dorm corridor in a boys’ boarding school.

Anyway, determined to enjoy my bike ride I pushed on through the humid buffering of spunky air – like being fanned in a sauna with carpet from a peep show booth.

I was just about getting to the point of enjoying myself wobbling along the Serpentine when I cycled into a biblical plague of flying ants. This really was the last fucking straw, I was peddling along, choking and gagging like a trainee fluffer.